


Finding the Words

by a_little_chai



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: And he actually gets it, Angst with a Happy Ending, But could totally be seen as, Gen, Gen Work, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Nausea, Pre-Slash, Reid needs help, Spencer Reid has Migraines, Spencer Reid-centric, Team as Family, Vertigo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24710926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_little_chai/pseuds/a_little_chai
Summary: His migraines are a constant. The ache in his head, the shifting of the world around him, the knives of light digging into his skull. Something's very wrong with him, but every doctor he sees says the same thing - it's psychosomatic. Stress induced. But he's not crazy. He's not.AKA: Spencer's migraines are getting worse and worse, yet he refuses to tell the team. Cue them finding out when Reid nearly passes out during a case.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Comments: 21
Kudos: 570





	Finding the Words

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, thanks for clicking! I wrote this really quickly so sorry if there are any errors. Have fun!
> 
> All warnings are in end notes.

It started with the light. 

It was always far too bright. The fluorescent bulbs at the BAU, local police stations, doctor's offices, they made the world spin and the lines become deeper and everything just... unreal. It was only at home, with only the moonlight seeping through the crappy curtains on his windows, that he got relief. That he felt alive.

That can't be psychosomatic. It can't. 

Then came the headaches. They're pulsing and pushing and force nausea into his throat. It hurts. It hurts worse than any other agony he'd ever been in, because it doesn't stop. Sleeping doesn't stop it. The over the counter medication he can force down his throat does absolutely nothing. 

A few months, and several doctor visits later, the dizziness started. 

He wants to just lay down and fall asleep and never have to wake up again, not if waking up means that he has to face this pain for another day. 

But a cell phone's ringing and he's in New Mexico tracking a murderer. Morgan's in a bed across from him turning on the bedside lamp. It's glaringly bright after spending five hours staring into the darkened hotel room, hoping for sleep to claim him. The other agent's grabbing the phone and answering it. Loudly. It sends a new spike through his skull. 

"Hotch needs us at the station. There's been another murder." Morgan said, getting out of bed and starting to get dressed. 

Reid just nods, groaning softly as he gets up. He shakily walks to the bathroom and tries to get dressed. His hands have so many tremors he can't button up his shirt. The circles of plastic are far too large to fit through those tiny holes. He just throws on a sweater vest and hopes no one notices how rumpled his button up is underneath. 

When he looks up, darkness starts to flood his vision, steadily moving from the edges inwards. He holds onto the counter tightly, swallowing convulsively against the bile rising in his throat as everything starts to tilt. He can't... he can't pass out now. There's been another murder and he needs to do his job. Morgan's outside this bathroom and the teams getting ready a few doors down. 

Even as the bright floodlights above the mirror come back into his vision, another sharp spike burrows into his eye. There was no way he'd be able to focus on the case files, much less the geographic profile, when he was in this much pain. 

Apparently, though, it was all psychosomatic. 

He wasn't crazy. 

He ran a wet hand through his hair, hoping that it would allay some of the greasiness. His under eye circle were so dark they were nearly black. Reid just splashed more water on his face. 

Seven women were dead. This killer was not going to stop until they caught him. He needed to be able to focus today.

(there was the little rolled up sock in the back of his bag, with the tiny bottle he still had -) 

No. No! He would not do that. Not for the case, not even to be able to have a day without pain. He will not go down that road again. Not after being clean for so long.

(then why do you still have to bottle?)

_Shut up!_

(You're weak) 

_Shut. Up._

Taking one last long look into the mirror, at his tired reflection, he walked out of the bathroom. Morgan was dressed, his work bag slung over his shoulder as he waited by the door. "C'mon pretty boy, the team's downstairs waiting for us."

"Sorry, sorry." The words were soft, what he deemed an appropriate level given the massive headache filling his skull with cotton dosed in acid. 

"You alright? You look a little sick, are you coming down with something?" 

"No. I'm fine, Morgan." He saw the odd glance Morgan gave him, but ignored it. 

He's not crazy.

{~`~} 

Somehow, he makes it into the SUV with the rest of the team. He doesn't remember the sun rising to the point of the sky it is in now. He must've not passed out, because everyone was talking like normal. It was loud and bright, so he fumbled for the sunglasses he'd been keeping in his bag. They barely blocked out the traffic lights, but it helped some. He kept his head leaning against the window (thank God he didn't have the middle seat) and wished for a heavy pair of headphones.

The team was discussing the case, the most recent death. 

"So he takes the victim, moves her thirty miles south, and then murders her there? Why? Why would the UnSub go through all the effort of kidnapping her if he's just going to kill her ten minutes later?" Emily's voice was piercing, and he pushed his head harder against the window, willing the coolness of the glass to enter his head. 

"It has to be some kind of ritual, something's compelling him to move the women." Rossi said, his voice tinny over the phone. "Some part of his signature that requires the drive, or the change in location."

"But there's nothing. No sexual assault, no marks on any of the victims bodies beyond the ligatures from where he strangles them." A groan involuntarily left his lips as Emily talked. The car was bouncing way too much and the heat was not helping his stomach. 

"You good, Reid?" JJ asked him quietly, gently touching his shoulder. He nodded, not sure that he could open his mouth and still keep everything down. 

The car jerked to a halt as Morgan shifted it into park. He swallowed convulsively as he rocked forward, wincing at the fresh spike of pain lancing through his temple. He got out of the car as quickly as he could, gulping down the fresh - if hot - New Mexico air. His eyes were closed against the heat and light of the sun. 

Taking a last deep breath, he hurried after the others and into the police station. Bypassing the scattered desks and counters, they went straight to the conference room that had been set up for them and started to rearranged evidence in order to add information on the new victim. 

He wanted, desperately, to keep the sunglasses on in the hopes of avoiding the fluorescent lights, but someone would notice. JJ and Morgan had already questioned him today, he couldn't take having to tell another lie. So he took the shades off and placed them in his bag, watching as some of the realness faded from everything and a vicious slice of pain arched through his head. 

"Where -" He cleared his throat loudly, hoping no one noticed the distinct strain that had been present. "Where was the most recent victim killed?" 

"An RV park called Deerhead Campground out in Cloudcroft." JJ answered, looking up from the case file to give him a worried glance, which he pointedly ignored. 

"Thanks." He said quietly, turning to the map. The various pins were stuck into it all around the square shape of New Mexico. He grabbed a pin and tried to find the RV park, but the map started swimming in black. His hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped the pin. 

Cloudcroft. He needed to find Cloudcroft. 

His eyes searched desperately as more and more of the map started to fade. No, no, he needed to find Cloudcroft. He needed to do this, or else more women were going to die. This was his job, this was what he _does._ He's the only one of the team that could do the geographic profile besides Garcia's computer. In this case, he geographic profile was essential. He can do this job. A headache shouldn't change that. 

But it hurt so goddamn much, and he desperately wanted everything to stop, just stop. People were talking and he had to keep working. All he wants is to be able to stop.

A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, wincing at the fresh wave of pain and dizziness and nausea it sent racing through his system. There was a loud buzzing in his ears. 

"Kid, what is wrong with you today?" Morgan asked, his voice threaded with undercurrents of worry. 

"What?" He whispered, desperately trying to ignore how rapidly the world started tilting, like he was on a ship in rough waters.

"You've been staring at that map for ten minutes, man. I called your name three times, not to mention how out of it you were earlier in the car. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I -" He started, but another stab a blinding pain through his eye stole the words from his mouth and replaced it with a soft whimper. A hand involuntarily went to the bridge of his nose as the world rapidly started spinning. Shit. _Shit._

"Spence?" He heard JJ call out, quickly followed by Emily's "Reid?!" 

"Help..." He whispered, watching as Morgan's eye's widened before the tilting was too much and black took over and his knees gave out. 

A strong hand wrapped around his back, guiding him gently into a chair. Reid closed his eyes tightly, moaning as the world continued to spin and the pain didn't stop, he just wants the pain to stop. 

"Shit!" 

"Did he pass out?" 

"I - I don't think so -"

"Spencer, I need you to tell me what's wrong, okay? I can't help unless I know what hurts." 

That was Morgan's voice, calm and clear. It pierced through the din of _everything._ He opened his mouth before quickly snapping it shut, swallowing the bile that had risen in his throat. 

"My... my h-head." He managed to rasp out after a moment. "hurts, Morgan."

"I know, kid, I know." A hand rubbed his back and he welcomed the contact. It distracted from the lightening in his skull. "Is it a migraine?"

"Mmm-hmm." He moaned, nodding slightly. That only made the world spin more. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on Morgan's shoulder, savoring the softness of his shirt. Everything hurt too much. He just wanted it to be over. 

"I have your sunglasses, kid. Do you want them?" He nodded, and felt as the glasses were slipped on his nose. "I know it really hurts and that you probably just want to lie down, but this is really important. Do you need me to call an ambulance?" 

The tremor in his friend's voice made him open his eyes. Squinting at the light that sent literal knives into his corneas, he shook his head. "No... No hospital. 's just, just a headache." 

Distantly, he heard someone scoff at that. "Alright, no hospital then. There's a couch in the breakroom that we're going to commandeer. Can you walk?" 

"I don' - " Another wave of everything hit him and he groaned, sinking deeper into his friend's almost-embrace. "I don' know."

"Okay, okay." He heard worry, and the beginning of panic, in Morgan's voice. "Okay, we're going to try, but if you can't walk, we need to take you to the ER."

An arm threaded under his and started to pull him up. The world spun and he let out a sound full of pain and agony. A tear slipped down his face before he could stop it. He heard a swear behind him, before they started to walk forwards. 

A few minutes and what felt like half an eternity later, he was being slowly laid down onto the couch in the breakroom. Everything was jumping around and far too bright and loud. He just wanted to sleep, but that wouldn't happen. 

"Pretty boy, I called Hotch and he says to let us worry about the case and get some rest. They'll be here in a few hours and we'll deal with everything then." He heard the footsteps start to retreat. 

"M-Morgan?" There was a pause. "Thank... Thank you."

"Get some rest, kid."

The door gently shut, and finally everything was still.

{~`~} 

Something cut through the almost-consciousness that Spencer had been enjoying for a few hours. It was a place that wasn't really sleeping, but didn't have as much pain, something he was grateful for.

He blinked, opening his eyes and squinting. The room was darkened, the only window having its shade pulled down and the door being closed. He was still in the break room in the New Mexico state police station. 

He started to sit up, but the nausea hit him again and he groaned. The pain had settled to its normal level, right at that point where it was - annoyingly - making itself known without being the only thing he could think about. 

He ran a heavy hand through his hair, breaking apart a few of the knots and tangles that had appeared from laying on it. Jesus, had that actually happened? Had he really almost passed out in front of the team? God.

Standing brought another wash of dizziness, but he fought it off. He was used to some vertigo after standing up, it was just another thing he had had to get used to. What had happened earlier, that was different, completely. It felt like the whole world was falling out from under him. And the pain? 

He rubbed a hand against his bleary eye, walking steadily towards the door. It opened into the brightly-lit hustle bustle of a police department with a serial killer on the loose. A stab of pain assaulted him, but he ignored it. The team needed him. 

The arguing of said team could be heard even through the glass walls of the room they were in. He winced, not looking forward to entering the noise, but opened the door anyways. All eyes instantly locked on him. 

"Reid, what are you doing up?" Hotch asked, his tone softening. "You're supposed to be resting."

"I thought you might need help." He said quietly, pointedly not looking at anyone. "I didn't finish the geographic profile and -" 

"We finished the case, kid. The UnSub was that car salesman we interviewed a week ago. We caught him red handed with victim number eight, he's in custody." Morgan's voice was gentle, similar to Hotch's, and it made him uneasy. 

"Oh." he whispered, taking the only open seat left at the table. His eyes caught the small gesture Hotch made, the one subtly telling everyone to get out. The team collectively nodded, everyone but the Unit Chief standing up and starting to shuffle out. 

"You _are_ feeling better, right?" Morgan asked as he walked by him, putting a steady hand on his shoulder. He nodded, trying to put a normal smile on his face but probably failing miserably.

"Yeah, a bit. Lying down helped." He saw the other agent hesitate. "Morgan, I'm _fine_. I need to talk to Hotch." Morgan just nodded, giving him a small smile that seemed faintly fake in return before following the rest of the team out. 

That left him and Hotch. 

"How're you really feeling?" Hotch asked gently. 

"Better. I wasn't lying, being able to rest for a few hours really helped."

"Okay, that's good." He saw the Unit Chief physically steel himself for the conversation they had to have. "Reid... I don't want to ask you this, but you know I need to. What happened earlier could've put this team in danger if you had been in the field. You can't hide medical conditions from us." Hotch's voice was stoic, but there was a thread of worry in it that he couldn't completely hide. 

"I'm not." He couldn't look up as he said it, too aware of the man watching him carefully. 

"To speak frankly, that's BS, Reid. You don't get migraines like what Morgan, JJ, and Emily were describing unless something's wrong. You almost passed out in the conference room. You've been off for months. Tell me you've been to a doctor, at least."

"I've seen four doctors, three of them neurological specialists. Collectively, I have spent four hours and sixteen minutes getting MRI and CT scans done in the past three months. I've spent every waking moment outside of work trying to figure out what's wrong with me." The words came out quickly, too loud for his sensitive head. He watched as Hotch's expression softened. 

"What did the doctors say?" 

"That nothing's wrong. That it's psychosomatic, that it's all in my head because of excess stress or something. But I'm not crazy, Hotch, I'm not." His speaking got more frantic, hands desperately clenching under the table. 

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in an all too familiar way. "I know you're not crazy, Spencer. I would never suggest that. But you can't be in the field when you're like this, not when this can flare up so quickly."

"It's not quick. I could feel days ago that I was going to have a bad day at some point, and I was going to tell you, but then we were put on this case. We couldn't find any leads and you couldn't afford to be an agent down." He glanced up, looking into the Unit Chief's dark brown eyes. "It always hurts. Constantly, and I can't do anything about it. I can't sleep, I can barely eat. I'm so tired, Hotch."

"You should've told us, Spencer. This team is a family and we would've been there for you." A calloused, strong hand gripped his own tightly. "There's a reason you get these headaches, and we will figure it out, whether it's physical or not. But you need to trust us."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." He said quietly. "I do trust you. I trust every person on this team with my life. I just... I was terrified. I _am_ terrified."

"I know, Reid, but you need help, help from your family, and we are here for you. We will help you through this. If you want, I will be at every appointment I can make it to. And if this _is_ psychosomatic," Hotch raised his hand, silencing the protest he was about to give. "We will figure it out. No one will tell you you're crazy, I can promise you that."

"Thanks, Hotch." He said quietly, feeling warmth bloom in his chest. The fear that'd kept a constant vice there loosened as he realized his boss was right; the team wouldn't hate him for this. "I, uh, can I lie back down?" 

"Of course, Reid. Just rest, I'll wake you up when we're leaving."

Laying back down on that couch, his muscles finally relaxed. The pain in his head faded for the first time in months and the room wasn't spinning. 

Sleep stole in quietly. 

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:
> 
> Briefly referenced drug addicition  
> Very brief mention of sexual assault of victims  
> Descriptions of nausea
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please leave a kudo or comment!
> 
> **You are loved, and never alone. We are here for you, and you are enough.**  
> 


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